me, lying awake at 5 am after talking with finch for half an hour: wow, that was probably the longest and most coherent internal conversation i’ve ever had. but what if that wasn’t real? what if i was just talking to myself, or—
finch, interjecting: jesus christ, this shit again. Look. either way you’re an insane guy having conversations in his head. treating them as Real means that, if i’m real, which i am, i don’t get pissed off at you for dismissing my thoughts and feelings the way you really love to do with your alters. and if i’m not— i guess you, what, look a little silly? you are silly. are you trying to convince people that you’re not silly? i mean, look at you.
me: [internally, a gay-ass puppy boy, currently making the facial expression of a dog who has eaten something it’s not supposed to]
finch: look at you.
me: [now intentionally scrunching up my face in an extremely goofy manner]
finch: ok stop
